


//finish him! -- dante

by MostlyAMan



Category: DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Guro, Other, Ryona, Suicide, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAMan/pseuds/MostlyAMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NSFW, EXPLICIT : GURO. [You]/Dante, M-Ryona, humiliation, suicide. FINISH HIM!</p>
            </blockquote>





	//finish him! -- dante

He whimpers beneath your fist, once-pretty face smashed to a nigh-unrecognisable mess.  
  
"You like that, don't you?" You sneer and spit down at the pathetic wretch at your feet. It hits his face and slides down his cheekbone and he dares to reach grubby, blood-marred fingers up to wipe it away from its path towards his eye.  
  
But you're not having any of that.  
  
You kick his hand away with your battered, blood-smattered steelcaps, catching his cheekbone with it-- his head cracks back again at the pavement, digging shattered glass scattered about you ever closer to his skull. He makes another pathetic noise and screws his eyes shut as childish tears bead at the corners of his eyes. How could something so disgusting ever have a scrap of self-worth? Nothing more than dirt, something to be scraped from the bottom of your shoe. The best part of it, though? He knows it.  
  
"Dante the Demon-Killer?" A laugh breaks your mocking tone and he tries to look away from the sound, but you kick his head back towards you with a swift hook of your heel. "Do you  _really_  think yourself worthy of his name?"  
  
"I... I'm not him!"  
  
Ever defiant.  
  
A smooth smirk spreads over your face and at your silence, the whelp dares to open his blurry eyes. He's petrified, stripped of all bravado and front, his very being spread open like a trashy book with too many clichés-- the little shit sang like a bird after you crushed his skull the first time and made him feel his brain, forcing his filthy fingers back and forth through the mush that defined him. It healed up so nicely, so quickly that he knew you weren't fucking around and he stopped fighting when you slammed his head back into the pavement, over and over and over again. Every impact broke him and he was forced to endure it with his dirty, muddy, mongrel blood speeding his recovery.  
  
When you smashed his teeth out, they re-rooted themselves in soft gums that had just healed the gaping holes. You stamped on his balls until they were pulp and cackled when he pissed himself in his fear and agony, then  _more_  when his useless testicles reformed, swollen and painful-- they burst again so sweetly and he gripped at them as if his hands would help. You only stubbed the fine bones of his hands into shattered needles, twisting them like a cigarette butt.  
  
No... the Dante you know is an incredible creature. He's tall, muscular and  _gorgeous_ , a real smooth-talking Romeo with a mischievous glint in his eye and a smile to die for. Men aren't ashamed to admit that they want him and you're a sucker for him, too. If he asked, you'd suck his cock in a heartbeat and savour every damn minute, wouldn't you?  
  
But this lame excuse of a  _boy_?  
  
He doesn't deserve the name.  
  
Your upper lip curls back as you glare down at the snivelling dregs of a creature so utterly depraved, so low that you don't even want to put your cock anywhere near him.  
  
"No... You aren't, are you? Just an obnoxious, diseased little smackhead... Why do you even bother?"  
  
Ebony and Ivory seem heavy in your pockets. It would be so easy, but...  
  
You crouch and he flinches. Perfect.  
  
"Here. Take these,  _fuckwit_."  
  
The guns are thrust into his still-uneven hands and he struggles to grip them.  
  
"Now... Put them just here..." You half-purr, nuzzling the muzzles of the guns to his temples. He looks up at you, beginning to panic, eyes flicking around your face in disbelief.  
  
"Please, no, don't--"  
  
A sharp slap silences him and again, he whimpers, knowing exactly what you want him to do.  
  
"Fucking pussy," you hiss, venom dripping from each harsh sound. "You don't have the balls to do it, do you?" You goad, a nasty grin twisting the corners of your mouth. "Talking big, like the world owes you a big fucking favour? You  **disgust**  me. Finish yourself off, you don't deserve any more of my attention. Go on.   
  
" _Do it_."  
  
 _ **BANG.**_  
  
You're splattered with his gore and viscera, frosty eyes fixated on you desperate for acceptance, any shred of approval. Perhaps a part of you feels so very, oh so utterly  _slightly_  bad for him. Or perhaps it endears him to you? He could be a project-- something to be broken down completely, reworked into a loyal pet? Though the lighter in your pocket might look good on his skin-- don't you have some lighter fluid? Some dogs just need to be put down.  
  
There are so many possibilities... You fold your arms and watch as flesh begins to stitch itself back together. It's really only just begun!


End file.
